Sidhe Bheag, Sidhe Mhor
by Oriviurr
Summary: A duke, a knight, and everything in between. [Series of Squire's Tales oneshots that I'll be updating when/if I write more]
1. Guardian

When Lorie was nine years old, she was informed that she was going to get a baby brother. Now, Lorie was _nine_ , so she reserved the right to be at least a little bit jealous, especially seeing as the baby was a _boy_ , and therefore overtook her in line for Father's throne. Not that Avalon or Father would have had any issue with a potential female ruler, so she knew she wasn't being replaced. There was always tradition to uphold. It was just that she was _nine_ , and as a nine year old could understand it her brother that she didn't even know had already taken something of hers, without even being born yet.

It wasn't like she was running around screaming and crying. She was just a little quieter than usual, a bit _downhearted_. In worried response, her father had put aside time in his schedule to sit down and chat with her about her new brother, and what his arrival would really mean. She learned that his name was to be Terence and he would be much younger than Lorie, and she'd have to be very grown up around him because he would love her very much and it was the way of babies to mimic the people they loved, or so her father explained. By the time he'd left and she'd been summoned to lessons, she was almost looking forward to it.

Of course, everything had quickly changed when Grainne died.

Lorie was destroyed. Grainne had been so _kind_ to her, especially when they'd first met. Lorie had been seven and trying to understand how her father could love someone who wasn't her mother, and she was upset, since she was _seven_ , which had made her act quite rudely. But Grainne had just laughed, that chiming laugh that had helped Lorie understand how Father had fallen for her, and embraced her young faerie stepdaughter. She'd introduced herself, and told Lorie that she was looking forward to getting to know her. Then, then! She'd given her _cookies_.

Her despair only crescendoed when she found out this meant her brother wouldn't be coming to Avalon until they were both very old. He was to grow up without his real parents, with no knowledge of who he was or the legacy he carried. She couldn't just let him go. She _couldn't_. While his parental figure was being chosen, Lorie knew for fact he was being kept in Avalon, after all, where else? So, naturally, she demanded to see him.

Father sighed tiredly at her request, probably expecting this to be fair, and brought her swiftly to the makeshift nursery where the young faerie prince was being looked after.

"Here he is," Father murmured softly, gently holding the squealing bundle as he sat beside Lorie on the bench. "Isn't he beautiful?"

Lorie nodded silently, gaping at the child. Babies looked _strange,_ but she could admit that he was a bit cute.

"Hold your arms out. Carefully now."

Lorie gasped, looking up. "I can hold him?"

"Well of course you can, he's your brother after all. But you must be very careful. He's not even a week old." He adjusted her grip, and softly rested the child in her arms. Terence gurgled, and a grin spread across her face.

"Oh, he's adorable. I love him!"

Father smiled sadly.

* * *

Terence wasn't breaking the rules _per se_. He was, after all, sent out to collect firewood. And he was definitely _out_ , he just hadn't _quite_ managed the firewood bit yet. He would of course get to it eventually, but right now he had more important things to do. Such as trying to catch a glimpse of that fawn that should've been born recently, if he'd gotten his facts right.

He liked to keep on top of the population of the woods. He imagine that if a lord could have tenants to look after and care for, Terence could too. Not that Terence was really required to allow the animals to live in the woods that he _didn't own_ , but generally seven year olds aren't expected to understand the ins and outs of lordship, and it wasn't as if he could keep track of _everything_. For one, the rabbits bred too rapidly, and Terence definitely wasn't their only predator. And in the case of birds, the boy could hardly _fly_. But larger mammals like deer and foxes were infinitely more manageable, and therefore had become Terence's little pet project. Trevisant had only chuckled, and said nothing when venison stopped appearing at the table.

Finding the fawn had only meant to take an hour or so, but when the sky began to darken Terence had only just begun his firewood search. Panicking, he quickly picked up whatever he could find, not giving the usual care to the type or shape, but still only managed half the journey back before the lack of sun ensured he could no longer find the way.

He walked on, determined not to give in, but instead of the half hour it should've taken to find his way back to the hermitage, Terence found himself wandering around for an hour or more. Dismayed, scared and frozen to the bone, Terence sat against an strong, old tree and pulled his knees to his chest. Despite his best efforts, the fear and hopelessness of his situation reduced Terence to tears, which he tried to muffle as much as possible in the case of more malevolent forest life. He wanted to go home. _He wanted to go home_.

"Are you lost?"

Terence very nearly screamed, throwing his head up and banging it against the tree in an effort to get a look at the stranger. Soft hands steadied his shoulders, and when Terence's head cleared he noticed the girl attached to them. A teenage girl stared down at him in concern, with the most expensive item of clothing Terence had ever seen draped around her shoulders and head. It was a fur cloak, whiter than Terence even knew was possible, with delicate glass antlers connected to the hood, framing a kind face with hair the same shade (more or less) of Terence's and incredibly green, _green_ eyes, which gave the impression that she would always know more than you, no matter what. Also, she smelled like _apples_.

Terence shook his head warily.

She raised one perfectly kept eyebrow. "Well, in that case, this seems an awfully strange place for a little boy to call home."

"I... might be a little lost?" Terence conceded, looking down to mess with the dirt at his feet. "But that's only because of the dark! I'd be able to find my way if it was day!"

"If it _were_ day, honey," the mystery lady corrected gently. "Would you perchance like a guide? I know where your home is, and I'd be much happier knowing you were safe and tucked into bed. Leaving little boys alone in woods does hell for the conscience."

"I'm-" Terence sniffed. "I shouldn't be following strangers in the night."

"I'm not a stranger, darling." The lady was smiling, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Terence pulled his legs in closer. "But-"

"Here!" She unclasped her cloak, gathering it around Terence and wrapping the boy up. His words, usually quick to the tongue, caught in his throat. It was so _soft_. "If I turn out to be some sort of, oh, I don't know, evil witch? You now have full permission to kick me in the shins and run. And then at least you'll have something to keep you warm till sunrise. And seriously, that cloak? Anyone would put evil plans on hold for the sake of it. It's _gorgeous_."

Terence narrowed his eyes, pulling the cloak around him. "But what about the _wolves_?"

A worried look crossed the lady's face. "Uh, wolves?"

Terence only managed to hold it for about five seconds or so before bursting into fits of giggles. "Oh, you looked so scared! There aren't wolves in this forest!"

This time, she smiled with her eyes too.

* * *

The minute the pair emerged from the woods (sooner than he'd imagined), Terence cheered and ran towards the hermitage, only to catch himself when he realized he was still wearing the fine cloak.

"Oh, sorry Miss!" he called back, hurriedly undoing the clasps, only to be stopped by his savior's hand. He looked up, confused, and her smile widened.

"Please, keep it." She kneeled down. "Keep it. It may be too big, but you could use it as a blanket?"

Terence gasped, giddy joy rising in his chest. " _Really?_ Oh, thank you Miss!"

Lorie's breath caught in her throat as Terence hugged her. It took at least a second or two to gather her wits, but once she did she reciprocated as fiercely as she dared. Oh lord, he was _small_. She struggled to hold back tears because, gods, she wouldn't see him for at the very least five more years, most likely even more.

She watched fondly as Terence separated to embrace Trevisant, who'd emerged from the hermitage to fuss over his missing charge before pulling him safely inside.

Five years, or more, Lorie didn't mind. So long as she got to see Terence again, someday, she found she didn't quite mind waiting.


	2. Salacious

**Veeery short little piece written for tumblr prompts while I get some ideas together. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

"So," Guinevere began. "Sensitive subject, but can you and Gawain hurry up? I'm eager to start your wedding planning."

Eileen choked on her tea. "G-gawain?" she stammered, sneaking a look to the corner. Terence looked simultaneously very uncomfortable and a bit like a nightstand. Were his knuckles usually _that_ white? "I, uh, that's... Gawain and I aren't like _that_ , really."

"Oh yes, I'm aware he turned you down at his return banquet, but it isn't like you've stopped talking, hm?"

"He didn't _turn me down_ , per se-"

"Lords Eileen, you rescued him from a _dungeon_!" Guinevere cried, _gesturing_.

"Some more wine, your highness?" Terence offered a bit too eagerly, making the queen jump.

She gazed at the squire thoughtfully. "If you would..."

"Your Majes-"

"Love letters!" she exclaimed joyfully.

"Er, love letters, your highness?" Eileen inquired, shooting a panicked look to Terence.

"Oh yes!" Guinevere looked between them with stars in her eyes. "It will be so romantic! You could write Gawain love letters, and then have Terence bring them back and forth." She paused. "Why are you here, Squire Terence? Shouldn't you be with your master?"

Terence looked out of his depth. "Uh well, your highness, Milord is at Sir Kai's chambers this morning, so he lent me to Lady Eileen. I'll be back with him when he and the lady take lunch together later."

"Lunch?" Guinevere asked, turning back to Eileen with a glint in her eye.

"Yes." Eileen said firmly. "Lunch. Where we _eat_."

"Well, I don't know what _you're_ eating but-"

"Your _highness_."


	3. Sir Wozzel

**Yo, so I don't think I've made an AN on this story before, but I'm not going back to check. I'm just going to say that I'm going back to school tomorrow, so updates are probably going to be scarce. Plus, I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo so that's taking my attention along with my TY portfolio for the entirety of April. Sorry about that, but I'll try my best to have something for the end of the month or a week after.**

 **On a brighter note, thank you all so much for your reviews! They're genuinly incredibly encouraging and I wouldn't have finished this chapter without them. I didn't really expect much attention seeing as this fandom is so small, but it's been brilliant. You're all so detailed with your reviews, it's insane. I'm going to reply to a few after I post this because I've been meaning to but I've been lax, and I'll try to reply to them from now on. Thank you!**

 **(Also, this takes place around the end of Lady Sarah and the Dung-Cart Knight. Enjoy!)**

* * *

Everything hurt.

 _Everything_.

Lancelot lay in bed, not daring to move a muscle for fear of agitating one of many small nicks (or perhaps of the few larger ones), and simply thought about Sarah. As much as he tried to turn his thoughts to lighter, less bloody topics, he found he'd grown close to the fierce little girl, and so _naturally_ he worried. He was allowed to, after all. Not paternally, of course, but more like an older brother. A really foppish, pathetic older brother.

It was ironic in some twisted way, that he'd been personally responsible for one of the grittiest royal disputes in decades, and yet found himself rescued by a girl with the name 'Princess'. Thinking on what had happened, between him and Gwen, still made him feel sick to the stomach. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to get over it and move on. One part of him didn't even want to, because maybe next time he made a mistake of that magnitude he'd remember the last five or so years, and then _not_.

"Feeling okay, sir?"

Lancelot did not squeak, _thank you_. He yelped. In a _masculine_ manner.

"Oh my," Squire Terence smirked, "I suppose your little getaway didn't help your reflexes."

Now it had been a while since Lance had been at court, but surely it wasn't a common thing for squires these days to be so… _brave_. Younger, more arrogant knights would say insolent, but Lancelot found it almost thrilling, especially coupled with that strange feeling the squire exuded. The lad, or man he supposed, as over the years Terence had grown into an almost regal agelessness, leant against Lance's door with a grin plastered on his face that gave the impression that he knew every single one of the Lancelot's thoughts. Perhaps he really did.

"It wasn't a priority," he mumbled in reply, pushing himself up. The squire walked into the room, tall, taller than Gawain now, with his posture both relaxed and dignified.

"Don't push yourself for me, sir. I've just come to deliver a message, and have a little chat if you wouldn't mind."

Lance raised an eyebrow, considering a theory he'd thought on since he'd met Nimue for the first time since his childhood. After the Lady of the Lake had returned him to his home, his father hadn't spoken a word of her. Every time Lance brought her up in conversation, his father became tight-lipped and worried, and the empty halls had seemed so much larger, and full of nothing. He'd assumed she was some dream, some conjuring of the mind he'd used to comfort himself after his mother's death. Faeries weren't real, after all.

And that's what he'd told himself again, that first time he'd seen Sir Gawain's squire up close. Because there was something about him, something ethereal and brilliant and terrifying, that dragged up memories of a woman who held him through so many storms so long ago.

But faeries weren't real.

Except now, Lancelot knew better.

"It's a message from the Lady Nimue, sir. She's left for the Other World, and sends her love," Terence recited lazily. A rather short message. Lady Nimue had a fondness for getting to the point. He was sure that this wouldn't be their final meeting, anyway.

"Squire Terence…" he began, looking the man in the eye. "Are you, perhaps, a, a _faery_ too?"

He didn't know what he was expecting, perhaps a little bit of confusion followed with the lad announcing his humanity for anyone at all in his room and the corridor behind it, but whatever he expected it wasn't a _smirk_. And that _damned_ _look_.

"Half, sir. On my father's side," Terence said, sitting down on Lance's bed. Five years ago he'd have been disgusted, but now he found it was comfier to stop thinking about titles so much, and start thinking about people.

Lancelot broke into a contented smile. "I suspected, but I would not believe it if you told me when I was last at court." Only silence passed between them, until Lancelot worked up the courage to say what he'd been thinking since this whole faery business began.

"Do you know Sir Wozzel? I have always suspected the man to be… more than human," he asked, staring into Terence's eyes.

Terence stopped smiling, but didn't look dour, only interested. "S'pose I do, Sir."

"Then," Lance took a breath. "Tell him I said thank you. If he had not knocked me from my horse that faithful day, I would never have had the chance to finally grow up. That man saved my life."

Terence cracked a smile, and soon his grin took up his whole face. "I'll pass along the message. You get your rest now, and I'll go check on our princess."

The squire pushed himself up and sauntered towards the door, and Lancelot got the impression that maybe the boy wasn't any old faery's son. That was Terence's business however, and if for the rest of his days Lance only knew him to be a squire then so be it. He was a squire. And a damn good one, from what he'd seen, even back when he couldn't give a care to the servants. He'd save them all someday, if he hadn't yet.

Terence stopped in the doorway, and leant back. "Oh, and Sir?" Lancelot raised an eyebrow. "You're very welcome. For me knocking you off your horse. Did you a world of good, I'd say." He smirked again, and was gone, just like that.


	4. Ludicrous

**Wow, ok. I'm a horrible person and I left this for way too long. I am so, so sorry and I appreciate you, the readers, so much, school just really got to me at the end of the year, and then I couldn't force my way out of a bit of a beginning of summer writer's block. I really appreciated your reviews and I plan to answer them all from now on, since I'm not quite sure as to which ones I've actually answered. Thank you so much for waiting, and I hope I can manage another chapter before Summer finishes.**

* * *

The fire was roaring, his friends surrounded him, and Terence felt at peace. Finally, there was nothing to be done, fetched, or cleaned, and the present company knew him well enough that they couldn't give a damn if he stretched himself out along the dusty ground right beside the fire pit. In fact, the King himself looked simply bemused. Although Terence's skin tingled slightly in the heat, he found he was too comfortable, and a tad too drowsy, too move. It didn't matter, it felt like bliss anyway.

The King had decided three months ago to go on a tour with his closest friends, and he really meant his _closest_ friends. He'd arranged it in a way that meant he had complete control of who went, by making it a trip for Guinevere and him. That way, anyone who went with them was for protection, the Knights of the Round Table (and the single squire they claimed to share), or for company for the queen, hence Lady Eileen and Lady Morgan. It would've frightened Terence how close Eileen and the Queen were if he didn't know just how awfully kind Eileen was to anyone who wasn't him. It was rather upsetting.

Last he'd checked, Eileen and the Queen were in conversation with Arthur and Bedivere, who was at the same time helping Dinadan and Gaheris with some little challenge over fletching. That was rather interesting, seeing as Terence would most likely be given the arrows when they finished. While terrific knights they may be, none of them could shoot an arrow to save their life, and it worked in Terence's favour quite a lot of the time.

At the other side of the fire, Gawain, Parsifal and Tor were getting steadily drunker, while Kai and Morgan actually held a decent conversation. Surprising, seeing as they never usually got along. In fact, Terence wondered _why_ they were getting along. He hadn't been listening to their talk. In fact, he'd been trying to get to sleep, because some people had to get up early to sort out the travel arrangements, but one thing happened to catch his attention.

"Say Kai," Morgan began as Terence listened in. "Do you believe in faeries?"

Oh no no _no_ , he did not need this right now. He dragged his eyes open, panic subsiding slightly as he recognised Kai's look of 'I-Am-Always-Right-When-I'm-Talking-To-Morgan'. In fact, it was rather funny. Not that he'd admit Morgan had done something right.

"Well," the man grumbled. "I won't say there's no chance, but until I see something convincing I'm not going to lay all my hopes in some funny little people and their magic."

Terence held in a snort, and Morgan's eyes turned to him. She smirked. "Of course _you_ wouldn't believe in what is right in front of you."

Terence's heartbeat sped up as Kai's head turned to him. Perhaps he… wouldn't put two and two together?

Kai's eyes widened. Well.

Terence internally sighed and decided to just give up. He'd been forced into this situation, and he'd see it through with some style, damn it. So he winked.

Kai went white as a sheet.

"No way," the man muttered, glancing between Terence and Morgan so fast that the squire worried for his neck. "That's- that's ludicrous. Faeries don't exist. Not _here_."

"Oh of course not," Morgan crooned, soaking in Kai's bewilderment like she needed it to live. "Well, we're waking rather early tomorrow, so I must be off to bed. Goodnight Kai. Goodnight Arthur.

Arthur turned from his conversation with a grin. "Goodnight Morgan, sleep well." He went to turn back, but happened to catch sight of Kai.

"Kai, brother," he began, concern lacing his tone. "Are you quite alright?"

" _Of course I am_!" the knight snapped, glaring. "Faeries _don't_ exist!"

"What-" Arthur stammered, furrowing his brows and looking to his wife for help. "Whatever you say? I'm not sure when I brought faeries up, but-"

Terence couldn't help the chuckle that broke through, before Kai kicked him hard. Ludicrous _indeed_.


End file.
